


Silver Downfall

by ManeAttraction



Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Gender Neutral, Implied actor mark, POV Second Person, dark has a tail, demon darkiplier, gender neutral reader, i'm bad at tags send help, kinda hard to kill a hottie amirite, oops it's horny while being sfw time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22505491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManeAttraction/pseuds/ManeAttraction
Summary: “A silver dagger, hm? I’m afraid you’ll have to be a little more creative than that to kill me, my dear.”You traverse into the demon’s lair to slay it. Whether or not you succeed is another story.Inspired by a piece by damn-the-dark. (https://damn-the-dark.tumblr.com/post/190435295442/a-silver-dagger-hm-im-afraid-youll-have-to-be) What can I say, I was inspired. ^-^
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	Silver Downfall

You're not entirely certain how you managed to get into his stronghold. A fearsome demon who can't even procure enough protection to keep lil ol' you out? You aren’t sure whether to bless your stars or curse them.

You softly pad through the grey, dimly lit halls, holding the weapon you were given across your chest defensively. Honestly, you wish you had a gun, but Mark had insisted—

You quickly duck behind a corner, as you swear you hear footsteps, but peeking around the corner reveals nothing. Nerves? The supernatural? You never know anymore. Anything is possible. You let out the breath you were holding, but your chest is still tight.

That tightness in your chest grows with every turn you make. You're being drawn deeper and deeper, you're sure of it, but damn it if everything doesn't look the same. Quietly, you had tried some doors before, but since none of them opened nor had any sound behind them, you'd long since given up trying.

It doesn't help your disorientation that there is a low, constant ringing in your ears. You don't know when it started. Frankly, you're convinced it's the silence messing with your mind.

You're about ready to give up and attempt to head back when the hall finally spits you out into an actual dead end. On the wall of that dead end is a door, slightly ajar. You creep up to it, slow and deliberate, and peek through the gap. 

A shot of adrenaline rushes through you as you spot him. Your target. The reason why you're here. He's just reclining and doing nothing, the bastard. With all he's done, you're honestly a little disappointed he's not doing anything more...evil.

"Now keep in mind," Mark's voice echoes in your head, "you only have one chance. One chance to sneak up and stab him. And it has to be straight through the heart. Do you understand?"

You had nodded, and he had handed you the knife carefully.

"This is the sharpest weapon you will ever handle. It will slice through you before you can blink. Pure silver is poison to a creature like that. Give him the same hell he created for you."

Your mind is pulled by your thoughts by the demon shifting in his seat. He's cast in shadow, so it's hard to tell what he looks like. Because, truthfully, you've never really seen him before. Just the blue and the red and the ringing that accompanies his presence.

...the latter of which is strong in your ears. And you swear it's getting stronger.

Holding the dagger out in front of you defensively, you slip into the room, crouching. You bite back a curse when you realize you're in his line of sight. However, it's too late now. You're committed.

You creep along the walls, thankful for your completely black outfit. What little light is in the room doesn't reach you. It does reach him, but you try not to look.

You reach a point roughly perpendicular to him, slightly behind, and stop, psyching yourself up. You can't let your nerves get the better of you. You can't let this thing get away with what it did. You can't disappoint Mark. 

You tighten your grip on the handle, set your jaw, firm up your shoulders. As softly as you can manage, you press forward, hyperaware of every action your body undertakes. Your mind and your muscles are screaming with the effort it takes to move so carefully, to keep your breathing under control. You swear you see something dart out of the corner of your eye, but when you move your head slightly to look, there’s nothing there. You chalk it up to nerves.

The demon sighs, and your head whips back, perfectly prepared to bolt. He’s not looking at you, and he ruffles his hair, almost as if he’s bored. You ignore the butterflies in your stomach, because they may not entirely be from nerves alone.

You have to do this. You have to. You’re so close to him, there’s no turning back. You take a deep, quiet breath, steeling yourself. You raise the blade—

“It is rather rude to keep your host waiting.”

His voice chills your blood and immobilizes you with its timbre. It seems to come from everywhere at once, and it shoots right through to your heart and—

You blink, and the world around you shifts: In the split second your eyes are closed, static prickles along your arms, the ringing in your ears grows even louder, and when you open them, the knife is out of your hand and in his. Your adrenaline kicks up again, and you reel backwards as he glances at you from the corner of his eye.

“Come closer,” he purrs. “Am I not allowed to see my guest?”

Something from the darkness pushes you towards the front of the chair until you are fully in his sight and he in yours. The light casts half his face in shadow, but the half that is illuminated makes your heart stop unwittingly. For being a demon, his countenance looks like it was chiseled by the gods. He’s dressed quite dapperly, his suit jacket unbuttoned and open to reveal the crisp dress shirt underneath. He’s relaxed, his legs crossed and running his fingers along the flat of the blade as he examines it. Only now do you notice the claws.

His teeth glint in the light, fangs peeking their way out as he levels his gaze at you. “A silver dagger, hm?” he says. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be a little more creative than that to kill me, my dear.” 

“ _Creative?_ ” you manage to spit out. “I don’t care about being creative. I want you _dead_.”

“Yes, of course you do,” he says dismissively. His barbed tail, which you’ve also just now noticed, flicks almost irately. “That perfectly explains why I am still alive.”

“You need to be _dead_ ,” you hiss insistently.

“Do I, now?” He smirks ruefully. “Was one death not enough?”

You aren’t afforded time for confusion, because his tail wraps around you and pulls you closer. You stumble a little with how forceful it is, and you catch yourself just before you tumble over. The demon turns his attention back to the blade.

“I am not some common supernatural creature, so easily thwarted by weapons of silver. Even one as sharp as this.” He drags his claw along the blade, and you grit your teeth in pain as the omnipresent ringing, now mixed with high-pitched glitches, fills your ears. He watches with amusement as you struggle to free yourself to cover your ears. Finally, he stops, but the noise doesn’t leave your brain right away; instead, it takes its sweet time fading. It isn’t until it settles back to its dull roar that you realize how hard you’re breathing.

He shifts forward, uncrossing his legs, and brings you closer still with his tail. He grasps your chin with his clawed hand, eyes boring into yours, like he’s drinking up your fear. You swear his eyes flash black for a moment. 

He smirks again briefly, as if satisfied with what he sees, then takes the dagger and presses it against the soft spot under your jaw. Any thought of struggling flees your mind, and something else creeps in...

“You, on the other hand… Humans are so _susceptible_ , aren’t they?” He chuckles, and the sound rumbles in your chest, taunting you. “I wonder how easy it would be to slit your throat right now.” He breathes in slowly, deliberately. It isn’t helping your conflict. “How quickly you would bleed. How you would be begging me…”

You gulp; not a smart idea, given your current predicament. “I— I won’t give you the satisfaction. Not like you got from hurting _them._ ”

He frowns, and in spite of yourself, you can’t help but feel sad at the change in expression. “Is that so,” he says, low and dangerous. You keep your mouth shut. “Is that what _he_ told you?”

Whether your silence confirms or denies it for him, you don’t know. All you know is that his wicked gleam returns to his eyes, and you fear moving even in the slightest.

“He is a brilliant liar. You, however, cannot even lie to yourself properly.” 

He drags the tip of the blade down the column of your neck. The trail it leaves behind burns, and you don’t know if he’s broken skin or not. Despite your best efforts, your breathing quickens. 

“You couldn’t kill me. You can’t kill me. You will _never_ be able to kill me.”

The blade keeps trailing down, and your breathing grows more panicked as it passes over your clothes. His tail loosens, unwrapping but holding you in place. Not that you’d try to run.

“Face it, my dear: You can’t kill me because you are soft. Weak.” His eyes flick over you, up and down. “And perhaps...you are more interested in the demon than you think.”

He takes the blade and pushes your ruined clothing aside. Mark was right; the dagger cut through your clothes like they were butter. And it sinks in that you are in far worse of a predicament than you ever expected.

“Such a lovely body,” the demon purrs. “Shame it has to be marred.”

You can’t help the “What?!” that escapes you. You struggle, but his grip on your jaw tightens, claws digging in, and the tip of the dagger is pressed against that soft spot.

“Sh sh shhh,” he says. “We don’t want any more blood on this blade than there has to be, little one, now do we?” You move to shake your head to concur, but instead let out a noise of agreement. “Good. You have really outdone yourself with this weapon. You won’t even feel a thing.” He brushes his thumb against your cheek. You feel his claw scrape your skin. It’s almost tender.

“And if you’re good,” he coos, “mayhaps I can reward you, oh...so...well…” His laugh rumbles in the space when he hears your breath hitch.

“Now, my dear....let’s begin.”


End file.
